


That Thing We Aren't Talking About

by cmshaw



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, lj snippet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-03
Updated: 2002-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:12:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmshaw/pseuds/cmshaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>We're not talking about it,</i> he'd said, and <i>Just forget it happened, Benny,</i> and he'd even resorted to <i>Shut up! I'm not talking to you!</i> after a day or so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Thing We Aren't Talking About

He tried to forget about it, he really did. _We're not talking about it,_ he'd said, and _Just forget it happened, Benny,_ and he'd even resorted to _Shut up! I'm not talking to you!_ after a day or so. It hadn't helped much, even when he'd finally gotten Benny to stop actually talking, because then the stupid Mountie sat there and watched him silently.

He'd yelled at Benny for that, too, but then he'd had to turn around and apologize. It didn't work very well to get angry at someone for looking sexy when he was trying to pretend he wasn't interested, but he was angry all the same. It was something in the way Benny sat there, something he couldn't pin down well enough to get through Benny's passive-aggressiveness to make him stop it. Benny would simply be sitting there looking nothing at all like a Mountie and everything like a man with a stiff uniform and a big hat and underneath it all a big, stiff -- he didn't need to be thinking about Benny's big, stiff whatever.

Every night he thought about it, sprawled in his soft empty bed, remembering waking up curled awkwardly on half of Benny's old mattress with its failing springs. One of Benny's legs had been lying across the backs of his thighs, and he'd been lying in the wet spot. He'd had Benny's teethmarks in his shoulder for three days.

"This is why I hate alcohol," he said, six days later, when he finally broke.

Benny, leaning against the windowsill in his small kitchen with his arms crossed, gave him an innocently puzzled look. "To what are you referring?" he said.

Ray looked away and put his hands in his trouser pockets. "My dad used to drink, you know," he said. "He'd come home stinking drunk and he'd do really awful things."

"Ray," Benny said softly. "You haven't done an awful thing."

"According to who?" Ray demanded. He put his chin up and faced Benny squarely.

Benny raised his eyebrows. "According to many people, including myself," he said calmly, "unless of course you are speaking of something else."

Ray shook his head. "You know what I'm talking about," he said.

"That thing we weren't talking about?" Benny asked.

"Yes, that thing we weren't talking about, Benny," Ray said. "Damn it."

Benny said, "We don't have to talk about it," and then he was right there with his hands on Ray's shoulders, crowding Ray back against the wall. He bent his head and leaned in and for a moment they were kissing. Ray pushed him wildly away and Benny pushed right back, pinning him to the wall with the weight of his body and kissing him again. Benny's jaw was uneven with stubble and Ray could feel his body through the thick fabric of the Mountie uniform, that body he'd been doing his best to forget ever since he'd first seen it in all its glory six days ago.

Benny turned his head and rubbed his cheek against Ray's. "Don't tell me to forget it," he said into Ray's ear. "I can't. I won't."

Ray leaned his forehead on Benny's shoulder. "I know," he said. Benny's hand slipped down from his shoulder to his hip, and then forward to cup the crotch of his pants. Ray slapped his hand away reflexively. "Don't," he said, and he brought his own hand around to grope between Benny's legs.

"Yes," Benny said, and his hips rolled forward to press a hard length of cock into Ray's fingers. Ray rubbed at him through the scratchy fabric and Benny ground them both into the wall at Ray's back. "It's not an awful thing. It's not," he breathed into Ray's ear.

"I know," Ray said. He opened Benny's pants and slid his hand inside. Smooth hot skin slid over his palm and Benny groaned into the side of his neck. Stroke, groan, stroke, groan: it was so easy to take control, just like Benny had taken control of him last time, just like Benny had laid him across the hard narrow bed and taken him.

His knees gave out of their own accord, and Ray slid down the wall between Benny's arms. It was darker down here on the floor, and everything looked dirtier, but when he opened his mouth and pulled the head of Benny's dick into it with the hand that had been stroking, Benny groaned so loudly that Ray forgot himself and everything else. This was control, the way the motion of his tongue and his hand could make Benny move in ways Ray's more rational arguments never would. Cocksucker was a dirty little powerful word, and Ray gave it his all, gave it things he'd never realized he'd noticed when he was the one getting sucked.

Ray pulled Benny's cock a little too deep and almost choked, nearly breaking his rhythm. Benny kept groaning, moving his hips just enough to show he wanted more, and Ray wrapped his mouth around the thick shaft of Benny's cock again, sucking fast and shallow now. "Ray!" Benny said, his voice tight, and Ray jerked his hand back and forth on the wet exposed skin of Benny's cock between his mouth and the heavy curls of dark hair just below Benny's stomach. "Ray -- it's -- slow down --" Benny said, and Ray wrapped his tongue around the head of Benny's cock and sucked harder. Benny gasped wetly.

Ray knew that feeling, that thick urgency that said the orgasm was coming now, right now, that no matter how good it felt it was about to be over, and with his free hand he lowered the zipper on his own pants and pulled his dick out. He knew that feeling, and he remembered the last time he'd felt it, panic-stricken and in over his head and lying face-down on Benny's lumpy mattress getting fucked by his best friend. He'd had that one moment of absolute clarity through his drunken haze, far too late to stop anything that had happened, far too late even to stop himself from coming in hot wet pulses to the same rhythm that Benny was grunting in. The hell of it was that he'd been the one to want it, to ask for it, to argue for it with drunken arrogance. He wanted it right up until it was too late for second thoughts, right up until he realized that he was going to come from it.

Then he'd panicked, even though he'd never stopped wanting it.

Benny groaned one final time, and his cock jerked inside Ray's mouth, stuttering out warm come. Ray held on and swallowed and fisted his own cock roughly. He spilled out into his own hand just as Benny filled up his mouth. He swallowed and swallowed, making Benny twitch and shiver with every movement of his mouth, and when there was nothing left to come from either of them he pushed himself slowly back to his feet and leaned against the wall next to Benny.

"Okay," he said, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Even-steven. Now we can talk."


End file.
